They clung to the rock as if their life depended on it; well I suppose it did. A hundred foot drop stood between them and their demise. Nothing would matter if they fell, nothing but the final view before the darkness took over. They scrambled for their lives, hoping that they would crest over the top before their strength completely disappeared and it was too late.
It must be difficult, said Elizabeth, and I thought yeah, maybe. Footholds can be tough to find in the dark, and my hands are made of nothing but chalk these days so I can keep my grip on things. But you – well. You are made of steep cliffs and rope burns and eighty degree angles. Yeah, maybe – like that. Your words climbing out of your throat. Tell me, Liz – can it ever be difficult for us to love him? Maybe if you don’t go to the mountain, the mountain comes to you.
There was a certain appeal to it, being a climber and all that came with it. The rush of the climb, the fear of it and all then the certain invitation death brought on from the height of the mount and the feel of conquering it. The rush of those feelings gave her life and that was all she could hope for.
After having been left in the dark all these years, strangers to ourselves we had become. All that had happenned kept on dragging us back to square one, we were unable to gain the strenght to move forward. Pressed against the walls of this hollow descent, we were waiting for the day when we would become talented climbers.
there are so many climbers in our lives, i tend to pick the easiest and not the one that gives most profits over time. its infuriating. never quit. xoxo
The climbers were overwhelmed by the high of the mountain that remained to be climbed. Turning back was not an option to be entertained, seeing that to attempt to go back down the ridge would be certain death.
The climbers had no chance at defending their outpost. The fact that they were outnumbered two to one was enough to warrant a withdrawal from the battlefield.
Although the climbers climbed to escape what they thought could only get them from below, they were shocked to see what was coming from above, due to what was actually happening below.
They were climbers. The legendary fighters who trained for years, who climbed the colossal and slayed them. They were the people’s heroes, the last stand, humanity’s only hope.
Or at least some of them were.
Their hands interlocked so hard their fingers turned white, but the tension was insincere. In the hotel room, waiting to get ready so that they could go and observe the election announcement live, they shared thinly-veiled hints that they couldn’t care less about the result of the election – that obviously it’d be ideal if their chosen side won, but that if not they’d try again next time: another ideology, another constituency, another colour.
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent’s house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit. She looked off into the horizon as the sun set. Reminiscing in old times.
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent’s house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit.
“We’re almost there!”
“C-can you see the top?”
“Yeah! Just a little further! Mind your oxygen and maintain your holds and we’ll be there in no time!”
As they reached the top, a feeling of overwhelming accomplishment washed over them, and they gazed down proudly at the single staircase they had just conquered. It was possible that Bob and Steve really needed to get out and exercise more.
How does it feel to be driven by compulsion? Spurred into becoming a Se t of climbers when the blood rushes to your heads? It throbs or perhaps it swells. Either way you’re racing towards the top, hoping to find some hidden sacred cave in the cliffface, the hieghts and depths of which you have yet to fully understand. Maybe you’ll never get past the physical sensation and therefore never question. So this transcendence escapes your human tongue, but you know beyond doubt your soul, or whatever you want to call it, is wrapped up in the thrill of the experience. Fight the urge as much as you like, the challenge is a siren’s song all torch lit on a moonless night.
People who reach for the top as if they have nothing to lose, because they know that anything they could possibly lose had absolutely nothing on what they could possibly gain. Climbers live life to fullest, and want nothing more than the intense rush of love, laughter, life, and all their desires will eventually be fulfilled.
His hands were white with chalk and left prints on his shirt where he set his hands upon his hips. “Ready?”
Clara tipped her head back, searching for the top of the wall where it kissed the sky. The dizzying sideways view alone gave her vertigo. She swallowed. “Yes.”
They each wore a harness strapped into a metal rod drilled into the rock–
we were climbers, vines with feet that grip and toes that break.
this is the wall we lean against
when we lose the strength to fall.
this is the ground we will never see again.
There were three mountain climbers in total: Jeff, Emily, and Sharon. And they were all more than ready. Both Sharon and Emily had scaled this mountain over a dozen times; now it was about how fast they could scale it, rather than how many times they could do it. Jeff hadn’t done nearly as much climbing as the women had, but he was full of enthusiasm and zeal, and he definitely was fit enough to be up for the task. That, and he was the spokesperson for SuperGrape, the energy drink company sponsoring his ascent.
The climbers climbed the sharp face of the mountain, calmbering to the top of the hill. They dropped the heavy weights that were weighing them down and scrambled over the edge. The view that assaulted them was horrifying. Blood, bodies, guts everywhere. Mayhem and chaos. They sank to their knees and wept.
My fingers caught a bit of crumbling rock as I scrambled on the mossy face of the cliff. Squinting against the sun, I glanced up at the rest of the climbers. I was ten feet or so behind the slowest climber. If we wanted to get to the campsite before nightfall, I’d need to stop being so cautious.
They clung to the rock as if their life depended on it; well I suppose it did. A hundred foot drop stood between them and their demise. Nothing would matter if they fell, nothing but the final view before the darkness took over. They scrambled for their lives, hoping that they would crest over the top before their strength completely disappeared and it was too late.
It must be difficult, said Elizabeth, and I thought yeah, maybe. Footholds can be tough to find in the dark, and my hands are made of nothing but chalk these days so I can keep my grip on things. But you – well. You are made of steep cliffs and rope burns and eighty degree angles. Yeah, maybe – like that. Your words climbing out of your throat. Tell me, Liz – can it ever be difficult for us to love him? Maybe if you don’t go to the mountain, the mountain comes to you.
There was a certain appeal to it, being a climber and all that came with it. The rush of the climb, the fear of it and all then the certain invitation death brought on from the height of the mount and the feel of conquering it. The rush of those feelings gave her life and that was all she could hope for.
After having been left in the dark all these years, strangers to ourselves we had become. All that had happenned kept on dragging us back to square one, we were unable to gain the strenght to move forward. Pressed against the walls of this hollow descent, we were waiting for the day when we would become talented climbers.
there are so many climbers in our lives, i tend to pick the easiest and not the one that gives most profits over time. its infuriating. never quit. xoxo
The climbers were overwhelmed by the high of the mountain that remained to be climbed. Turning back was not an option to be entertained, seeing that to attempt to go back down the ridge would be certain death.
The climbers had no chance at defending their outpost. The fact that they were outnumbered two to one was enough to warrant a withdrawal from the battlefield.
Although the climbers climbed to escape what they thought could only get them from below, they were shocked to see what was coming from above, due to what was actually happening below.
They were climbers. The legendary fighters who trained for years, who climbed the colossal and slayed them. They were the people’s heroes, the last stand, humanity’s only hope.
Or at least some of them were.
Their hands interlocked so hard their fingers turned white, but the tension was insincere. In the hotel room, waiting to get ready so that they could go and observe the election announcement live, they shared thinly-veiled hints that they couldn’t care less about the result of the election – that obviously it’d be ideal if their chosen side won, but that if not they’d try again next time: another ideology, another constituency, another colour.
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent’s house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit. She looked off into the horizon as the sun set. Reminiscing in old times.
The wind rushed through her golden locks as she steadied herself along the branches. Her strong hands pulled her through the green brush. She smiled as she could smell the familiar smell of pine. It reminded her of memories spent in front of the fire place at her parent’s house. They would sit in front and drink hot cocoa during the winters and light breezy candles. Her grip loosened a bit.
“We’re almost there!”
“C-can you see the top?”
“Yeah! Just a little further! Mind your oxygen and maintain your holds and we’ll be there in no time!”
As they reached the top, a feeling of overwhelming accomplishment washed over them, and they gazed down proudly at the single staircase they had just conquered. It was possible that Bob and Steve really needed to get out and exercise more.
The grit of soil between my teeth.
Bile rises and recedes.
The sun is too bright.
Snowflakes on eyelashes.
How does it feel to be driven by compulsion? Spurred into becoming a Se t of climbers when the blood rushes to your heads? It throbs or perhaps it swells. Either way you’re racing towards the top, hoping to find some hidden sacred cave in the cliffface, the hieghts and depths of which you have yet to fully understand. Maybe you’ll never get past the physical sensation and therefore never question. So this transcendence escapes your human tongue, but you know beyond doubt your soul, or whatever you want to call it, is wrapped up in the thrill of the experience. Fight the urge as much as you like, the challenge is a siren’s song all torch lit on a moonless night.
People who reach for the top as if they have nothing to lose, because they know that anything they could possibly lose had absolutely nothing on what they could possibly gain. Climbers live life to fullest, and want nothing more than the intense rush of love, laughter, life, and all their desires will eventually be fulfilled.
His hands were white with chalk and left prints on his shirt where he set his hands upon his hips. “Ready?”
Clara tipped her head back, searching for the top of the wall where it kissed the sky. The dizzying sideways view alone gave her vertigo. She swallowed. “Yes.”
They each wore a harness strapped into a metal rod drilled into the rock–
we were climbers, vines with feet that grip and toes that break.
this is the wall we lean against
when we lose the strength to fall.
this is the ground we will never see again.
we were spines with hands to hold.
Um, mountain climbers. They are strong and brave. Babies too.
There were three mountain climbers in total: Jeff, Emily, and Sharon. And they were all more than ready. Both Sharon and Emily had scaled this mountain over a dozen times; now it was about how fast they could scale it, rather than how many times they could do it. Jeff hadn’t done nearly as much climbing as the women had, but he was full of enthusiasm and zeal, and he definitely was fit enough to be up for the task. That, and he was the spokesperson for SuperGrape, the energy drink company sponsoring his ascent.
The climbers climbed the sharp face of the mountain, calmbering to the top of the hill. They dropped the heavy weights that were weighing them down and scrambled over the edge. The view that assaulted them was horrifying. Blood, bodies, guts everywhere. Mayhem and chaos. They sank to their knees and wept.
My fingers caught a bit of crumbling rock as I scrambled on the mossy face of the cliff. Squinting against the sun, I glanced up at the rest of the climbers. I was ten feet or so behind the slowest climber. If we wanted to get to the campsite before nightfall, I’d need to stop being so cautious.